


Nothing in the World

by Laylah



Category: Kamen Rider W (Double)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Post-Series, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 03:25:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8187791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: He watches Philip open the can of coffee beans and inhale deeply, and it feels like the perfect metaphor for how he's feeling right now, too: for the last year everything has been so drab and tasteless and now all of a sudden the world has color and texture and flavor again.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Megan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megan/gifts).



Nothing in Shoutarou's life—nothing in the _world_ —feels as good as that first time they transform into W again. Philip is _there_. Philip is _alive_. Philip is there and alive and with him and they're ruining the ambitions of some shitty Dopant who wanted to make Fuuto cry and _things are going to be okay_. He barely remembers how the fight goes afterward, because it's so much less important than the feeling of having his partner there with him, moving with him, the two of them a single Kamen Rider just like they should be.

He sort of makes an idiot of himself in front of Terui and Akiko afterward, but that's okay too. Philip is smiling that little the-world-is-odd-and-entertaining smile, and he's real and solid and alive when Shoutarou touches him, and honestly it's not like Shoutarou had any hopes of convincing Terui or Akiko that he's cool and manly anyway. So it's okay that he's flailing and falling all over himself and maybe he has something in his eye.

"Ryu, you should take me out to dinner," Akiko says when they get back to the agency, because when it's really important she's a genius. 

"You don't want to celebrate together?" Terui asks, looking from her to Shoutarou and Philip.

"Well," Shoutarou says, because that would be reasonable, wouldn't it? Even if he selfishly just wants to pay attention to nothing but Philip, and wants Philip to pay attention to nothing but him—

"Later," Philip says. "We can have a party, and I can see everyone again, tomorrow." He's a genius too, of course.

"Right!" Akiko says. "After the two of you have had a chance to catch up for a while first."

Terui smiles, which still looks oddly gentle on him, and says, "That sounds like a good plan. We'll see you tomorrow."

Philip nods. "Thank you, Terui Ryu."

As the two of them walk out the door, Akiko is suggesting someplace she wants to go for dinner, leaning on Terui's arm, and Terui is listening with the patience of a saint or an extremely besotted man. Good. That's sorted, and now Shoutarou can go back to the important business at hand, which is that there is _Philip_.

There is Philip, who is walking around the front room of the agency just touching things, ordinary things, the radio and the coffeepot and the dartboard, only they're not ordinary at all when you're able to touch them again for the first time in a year, Shoutarou supposes. He watches Philip open the can of coffee beans and inhale deeply, and it feels like the perfect metaphor for how he's feeling right now, too: for the last year everything has been so drab and tasteless and now all of a sudden the world has color and texture and flavor again.

"I'm home," Philip says thoughtfully.

"Welcome back," Shoutarou answers around the lump in his throat. Gah, he shouldn't be crying now, of all things. Philip is back. Everything is fine.

Philip puts down the coffee can and comes over to stand in front of him, bright-eyed and real and alive, and reaches out to wipe away the stray tear that's made a break for it down Shoutarou's cheek. "You're still half-boiled," he says fondly.

"Shut up," Shoutarou says with no heat at all. Philip's hand is still cradling his cheek. It feels wonderful.

With his other hand Philip plucks Shoutarou's hat off and drops it on the table. He cards his fingers through Shoutarou's hair slowly, like it's an experiment, his touch careful but confident, and Shoutarou gets goosebumps all the way down his spine.

"Philip...." he says.

"Shoutarou." Philip sounds much more confident than Shoutarou feels, but isn't that always the way it goes? "I missed you."

Shoutarou sniffles. "Missed you too." Touching each other seems to be a thing they're doing, so he puts his hands on Philip's waist. It's grounding, being able to touch him, to feel the warmth of a real live body under his hands. Without that he might think he was just delusional again, like he has been so many times over the last year.

Philip's fingertips map the contours of his face, slow and gentle and— _intimate_ , Shoutarou realizes, that's the word he wants. His heart speeds up at the realization and Philip's hands stop moving. "Shoutarou? Is something wrong?"

"No!" Shoutarou says, and his voice cracks. He coughs. " _No_ ," he says again, and it comes out much more manly the second time. "I'm here for you, partner."

He will never be tired of Philip's smile, not if they stay together for sixty years. They're drifting closer together and this is the point where if Shoutarou _were_ making this up there would be a soft-focus filter over everything and a ballad playing in the background, but he's not and instead everything is crisp and bright and intense and Philip kisses him. _Philip kisses him_. His eyes go very wide but he manages not to panic, or yell, or otherwise ruin the moment by doing anything other than the obviously correct course of action, which is kissing back.

It's like finding the last clue that makes the solution to a case obvious. It's like he imagines a lookup must be when all the keywords come together to provide exactly the information they were searching for. Philip's lips are warm and soft and his fingers are still moving in Shoutarou's hair, gentle soft motions that shouldn't feel nearly as overwhelming as they do. Shoutarou lets his arms slide around Philip's waist, tugging them closer together, and when Philip's tongue slips past his lips he makes a low sound of wonder and disbelief.

Philip drapes his arms over Shoutarou's shoulders, swaying against him as if they're dancing. Kissing Philip is nothing like kissing anyone else in Shoutarou's admittedly limited experience; it makes his nerves sing and his stomach flutter and his knees want to buckle, all the dumb cliche things that he always thought were exaggerations but actually they're just signs that something is going really, really right. Shoutarou closes his eyes and breathes Philip in, letting the kiss slowly deepen as they relax into each other.

"Shoutarou," Philip says, breathing his name against his lips. "I want to take your clothes off."

Shoutarou's blood rushes south fast enough that he gets dizzy. "Okay," he croaks. Then he has a horrible vision of someone barging in on this, some client arriving with a case for him to take and interrupting— "Wait, hang on."

Philip lets go. "Is something the matter?"

"Just a second," Shoutarou says. He rushes to the front door, discovers that Akiko must have already flipped the sign to Closed, locks up and double-checks both the sign and the lock. Then he comes back to face Philip again.

"If the idea makes you nervous," Philip starts.

"It's not that!" Shoutarou says. "I just... really don't want to be interrupted, that's all."

Philip smiles again, soft and warm and fond, a completely different expression from his manic delight at new discoveries. Shoutarou is going to have to catalogue the varieties of his smile. There will be time for that now. There will be time for so many things.

"So, you know," Shoutarou goes on. "Go ahead."

"Thank you," Philip says, gently amused. He steps closer and reaches up to tug loose the knot on Shoutarou's tie. The buttons of Shoutarou's shirt come next, and Philip's face settles into the expression of focused concentration he gets when he's exploring a fascinating line of investigation. His fingertips trace the line of Shoutarou's collarbone, mapping him slowly. When he pushes Shoutarou's shirt off his shoulders, he licks his lips and Shoutarou has to swallow a whimper.

"Hey," he says. "Should I be undressing you too?"

"That is the usual way, isn't it?" Philip says. Like he hasn't even thought about it, the weirdo. "Yes, that sounds good."

Shoutarou pushes off his overshirt and then strips his shirt off over his head, hands almost steady, nerves only slightly jangling. Philip's skin is warm and smooth under Shoutarou's hands, and once he starts touching him he doesn't know how he'll ever stop.

For his part Philip seems to feel the same way: his hands splay across Shoutarou's rib cage, slide upward, cup his shoulders and slide down his arms. "It feels good to touch you."

"Yeah," Shoutarou says hoarsely, failing at being either hard-boiled or eloquent, but it hardly matters. Philip knows him, knows all his weak points, and still wants to be here. Wants to be his partner.

Shoutarou leans in for another kiss, at least partly to keep this from going too fast. Philip is warm everywhere they touch, and his fingertips draw patterns across Shoutarou's back as if he's writing down his impressions of the experience on Shoutarou's skin. That's way hotter than it sounds, which in turn isn't helping with slowing anything down. His fingers dip beneath the waistband of Shoutarou's pants and Shoutarou's hips buck instinctively. Philip laughs. "Should I keep going?"

Shoutarou nods, kicking his shoes off. Philip unbuckles his belt and then unbuttons his pants, and that makes his knuckles brush against Shoutarou's erection, which makes Shoutarou gasp and cling to him.

“Fascinating,” Philip says, and does it again more deliberately, his knuckles tracing the length of Shoutarou’s cock. Shoutarou makes an undignified noise and bites his lip. “Is it that different to have someone else touching you?”

“Yes,” Shoutarou says breathlessly, and then realizes that he should have said _Here, let me show you_ , suave and compelling, and reached for Philip in turn. Maybe it’s not too late. “Here, let me show you,” he says, and it doesn’t sound quite as good as it did in his head but at least he’s participating instead of just getting taken apart by every tiny gesture. He palms the crotch of Philip’s pants, has a very brief moment of panic where he fears Philip won’t be hard at all, and then finds the outline of Philip’s cock, stiffening under his fingertips, and everything is all right.

“Oh,” Philip says softly. He rocks his hips, pushing into Shoutarou’s touch. “That is definitely compelling.”

“An ordinary person would say it feels good,” Shoutarou says.

Philip raises his eyebrows, pretending to be surprised. “Did you want me to be ordinary?”

“Never,” Shoutarou admits. He cups Philip’s cock in his hand and squeezes, and Philip exhales shakily.

That works for a few seconds and then Philip says, “I’m getting distracted,” as if that’s a bad thing. “I was taking your clothes off.”

Well, maybe it’s a bad thing.

“I’ll let you get back to it, then,” Shoutarou says, and lets his hand fall.

Philip frowns. “How do people manage this so it doesn’t become frustrating?” He hooks his fingers in the waistband of Shoutarou’s pants and tugs them down.

“By rushing through the boring parts,” Shoutarou says, which is a guess but at least sounds plausible.

“There aren’t any boring parts,” Philip says. He sinks slowly to his knees as he pushes Shoutarou’s boxers down, and then he’s just _staring_ , studying Shoutarou’s cock as though it’s fascinating. Shoutarou can barely breathe.

Philip’s hands slide up Shoutarou’s thighs and veer inward, stroking his balls with light, exploratory touches that make his cock jump and his breath stutter. It’s true, there aren’t any boring parts; Philip makes every moment new and important and precious. His fingertips run up the length of Shoutarou’s cock and circle the crown, and Shoutarou shivers, trying not to buck toward his hand.

“You’re enjoying yourself,” Philip says, like a hypothesis he wants confirmed.

“Of course I am,” Shoutarou says.

Philip kisses the crease of Shoutarou’s hip. “I believe this is the point at which we should go to bed.”

“As soon as you get your pants off too,” Shoutarou says, and Philip responds by shoving them down off his hips before he’s even gotten up off his knees. “Oh.”

Shoutarou doesn’t think he’s ever given much thought to the idea of Philip naked, and he’s not sure what was wrong with his past self to have failed in such an important way. Philip is—handsome doesn’t seem quite like the right word, but beautiful doesn’t either; he’s _arresting_ , impossible to look away from, and there’s a lump in Shoutarou’s throat as he thinks about how lucky he is to be here, now, with Philip standing naked in front of him and reaching out to pull him close.

“Shoutarou,” Philip says, pulling him back to himself. “Let’s get in bed now.”

“Yeah,” Shoutarou says hoarsely. He holds Philip’s hand as they sink down onto the narrow bed in the back of the office, because not touching Philip seems unbearable, and the beautiful thing about being in bed together is that then it’s easy to touch _more_ ; Philip molds his body against Shoutarou’s as if he can’t get enough either, and Shoutarou kisses him because it’s been whole minutes since they were kissing and that’s too long.

Philip rocks his hips, grinding his cock against Shoutarou’s, slow and hard and distracting from the important business of kissing with the equally important business of making him want very much to come.

“Philip,” Shoutarou gasps. He buries his hands in Philip’s hair, holding on, as Philip grips him by the hips to grind into him harder. “Philip, please, yes.”

“If there’s something in particular you want us to do,” Philip says, “you should tell me what it is.”

For a moment that question is daunting with the sheer number of possibilities. “I want,” Shoutarou says, because he does, he wants just about everything, and then he’s not sure how to finish the sentence. “I don’t even know, I want to try everything, that isn’t helpful.”

Philip laughs. “Trying everything will take some time,” he says, “but I like the idea of being thorough. For now, you should let me put your cock in my mouth.”

Shoutarou nearly comes right there. “Yes,” he squeaks, wishing he sounded more suave and giddily grateful that he doesn’t need to, that Philip slides down the bed to kneel between his thighs without even pointing out to him how half-boiled he is.

Philip, being Philip, doesn’t hesitate at all once he’s down there. He wraps one hand around the base of Shoutarou’s cock to lift it away from his belly and leans down, opening his mouth wide. His tongue touches the underside of Shoutarou’s cock, wet-velvet soft and slick, and then his lips wrap around the head, and this basically makes up for any number of humiliating romantic defeats in Shoutarou’s past.

Not that he wants to phrase it that way, if he can make his brain work, if he can make his mouth work when he’s so distracted by Philip’s. “So good,” he manages, and, “ _Philip_ ,” neither of which win him prizes for eloquence but Philip is sucking gently on the head of his cock and words are hard. He moans in gratitude as Philip takes him in deeper, clutching at the sheets to have something to hold onto.

It feels like his nerves are on fire, like he’s flying, like more outrageous metaphors that become appropriate when the subject is Philip touching him. Each stroke wrings a little more pleasure from Shoutarou’s body, winding him tighter as Philip’s lips and tongue slide wetly over his flesh.

“I’m close,” he gasps out. “If you want to, _oh_ ,” because Philip has just dragged his teeth up Shoutarou’s shaft ever so lightly, so it isn’t even painful but suggests danger, and that’s all Shoutarou can take: he comes in Philip’s mouth, his cock pulsing, brilliant heat and light washing through his nerves. And Philip swallows, humming in contentment as if that was exactly what he wanted.

“ _Philip_ ,” Shoutarou says, as if he could put enough feeling into it to make Philip understand just how overwhelmed he is right now.

Philip keeps sucking until Shoutarou has no more left to give, then pulls back with a little fond farewell lick that shouldn’t be—no, that absolutely should be exactly as adorable as it is. “Good,” he says, as if Shoutarou has just confirmed something he was confident of.

“So good,” Shoutarou agrees, even though he doesn’t think Philip was in need of reassurance. “Come here.”

He opens his arms and Philip crawls up the bed to stretch out on top of him, solid and warm and wonderful. They kiss again and Philip’s mouth tastes bitter but Shoutarou hardly thinks he can complain, not given the reason. Instead he pays attention to the way Philip’s tongue curls against his, the way Philip’s hands run down his sides, the way Philip’s cock digs into his hip, hard and needy.

“Should I,” Shoutarou starts, and then stops himself. He can be more confident than that about it. “Let me return the favor,” he says instead.

Philip nods, rolling off him and beaming with that combination of delight and fascination that he uses for new experiences. Shoutarou has missed that expression so much.

He kisses his way down Philip’s body, from the pulse hammering below his jaw to the hard line of collarbone, from the tiny nub of a nipple to the arch of ribcage, from the soft hollow of belly to the flushed head of his cock. Every part of Philip is precious.

Then Philip props himself up on his elbows to watch as Shoutarou wraps a hand around his cock. Shoutarou groans. “I should have known.”

“Something the matter?” Philip asks.

“You’re going to make me self-conscious,” Shoutarou says.

Philip reaches out and smooths back Shoutarou’s hair. “You’re going to do fine. It’s going to feel wonderful.”

“You don’t know that,” Shoutarou grumbles, but it helps. He leans down to lick the head of Philip’s cock and Philip hums. It tastes like skin, with just a faint hint of bitterness, and because it’s Philip it’s good. Shoutarou opens his mouth wide to take him in, letting Philip slide against his tongue, and the stretch feels strange in his jaw but Philip sighs with pleasure and that's all the encouragement he needs.

"This is another point where I believe an ordinary person would tell you it feels good," Philip says, because he's impossible. "I am enjoying this very much." He reaches down and takes Shoutarou's hand, and Shoutarou squeezes his fingers to communicate that yes, he's also enjoying this, and he's glad Philip is, and maybe that's too much of a message to put into a simple gesture but maybe not. They know each other better than anyone.

It takes a little practice and a few false starts where he thinks he's going to choke, but Shoutarou finds a rhythm that seems to be working. He keeps the hand that Philip isn't holding wrapped around the base of Philip's cock, holding it steady and also keeping himself from trying to take too much of it in his mouth. He bobs his head, feeling the slide of smooth skin past his lips, across his tongue, and the way his mouth feels almost over-full, not quite too much but skating close to the line. 

But it's Philip, and he's making soft needy sounds as he squeezes Shoutarou's hand rhythmically, and it's so good to have him here, like this, alive and real and _home_ and overwhelmed by the pleasure of what Shoutarou is doing to him. The bitterness gets a little sharper, a little more obvious and hot against Shoutarou's palate, but Philip says, "Oh, _oh_ ," and the taste doesn't matter. Shoutarou hums, low and contented, and Philip's thighs tremble. 

When Philip comes he's moaning Shoutarou's name, breathy and sweet and wonderful. His cock goes stiff and pulses against Shoutarou's tongue, spilling bitter heat, and Shoutarou doesn't let himself think twice before he swallows. 

Philip is holding his hand so tight it almost hurts, and that's fine, too. Shoutarou lets Philip's cock go and then brings their joined hands up to his lips, kissing each one of Philip's knuckles in turn. When he looks up, Philip is smiling down at him so soft and fond it makes his heart feel too big for his chest.

"Welcome home, partner," Shoutarou says.

"It's good to be back," Philip says. "Shoutarou." He pulls Shoutarou up to lie beside him, and Shoutarou snags the blanket to pull over them both. They lie there together quietly, and Shoutarou watches the pulse beat in Philip's throat as his heartbeat slows back to normal. For a minute things are just comfortably, easily perfect.

"So," Philip says, just when Shoutarou was in danger of falling asleep on him, "that was a good start toward trying everything, but we have a long way to go. What do you want to do next?"

Shoutarou groans, burying his face in the hollow of Philip's shoulder. "Of _course_ you'd want to plan everything out," he says, because he should have known. "You're impossible!"

Philip laughs. "I think you'll find that I'm very possible. Certain, even. I'm right here."

"You are," Shoutarou says, and kisses him, because it's true, Philip is right here, and what better reason could there be? Philip is here. Nothing in the world could make Shoutarou happier than this.


End file.
